Breaking and Entering
by 23Sammy
Summary: "Lisbon. His salvation from all things dark and painful. Who was now only a step away. But who was also still so mad at him, she even remembered the feeling in her sleep. And would thus kick him out of bed again in a heartbeat if she happened to find him there without invitation." Jisbon. One-shot. Season 7ish.


**A/N:** So I couldn't sleep. Thankfully this took almost all night to type, since one hand is currently out of service and in a cast/plaster. It then took almost all afternoon to re-write it in the light of day and get rid of all the typos I've made ;-) So here's a very random one-shot. I have no idea where it came from, but I'm glad for the unexpected, but welcome distraction at the end of a tough week. Hope it makes sense and that you like it. Canon Jisbon, set a few months after "Blue Bird" :-)

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><p>The room was silent, except for the almost inaudible sounds of two people breathing. One was a slow whisper and carried with it the soft murmur of deep sleep. The other was a hoarse rasp, almost a choking sound, full of distress, excitement and pain and it should not have been there at all.<p>

The rightful occupant of the room was curled up in a comfortable foetal position and currently hibernating beneath several layers of blankets, duvets and pillows on the small bed at the not so far side of the small room.

The intruder was hiding inside a curtain of deep darkness next to the window, melting into the shadows with such ease, as if he was one of them. When he turned his head to look at the figure on the bed, a flicker of bright red suddenly flashed across his narrowed eyes. The demonic glow even seemed to make the shadows quiver with fear for a moment, although the movement could also have been caused by a gust of wind moving the leaves and branches of the tree outside the window and hurling drops of rain and sleet against the glass.

The figure inside the room was still. He just stood there, tense and alert, careful not to move, not to make a sound. He'd gotten this far without making a mistake, the rest was easy now. All it required was patience and stealth. And he was patient man. And nothing but a shadow in the night.

Waiting.  
>Watching.<br>Biding his time.

A sudden earthquake shook the mountains of blankets on the small bed, when the person beneath it started to move, trying to turn around. But being buried beneath a glacier of cloth meant that any attempt to do this in a slow and graceful manner was futile. A small irritated huffing sound echoed across the mountains of blankets. It belonged to a woman.

The man in the shadows grinned with delight.

The woman tried to turn again, then, when the second attempt failed as well, she moved with more determination, rising half up and out of the sheets, like a whale breaching the surface of the sea, before crashing back down onto the mattress again with another huffing sound.

It looked and sounded a bit like she was trying to re-enactment a scene from a National Geographic nature documentary.

She mumbled something in her sleep then and reached out a hand from beneath the mountain of blankets, brushing over the bed-sheets in a caress so soft and tender, as if she was expecting to touch skin instead of fabric.

The intruder moved, stepping out of the shadows, the grin on his face melting into a soft smile. When he turned his head, the reflections of red light from the digital alarm-clock on the bedside table left his eyes and they were the colour of the sea once more, wide and full with hope and love.

Just when he was about to reach down to touch it, the hand on the bed stopped the caress and turned into a fist.

It was then that the intruder made the first real sound since entering the room. A quiet, but deep, long sigh.

_Great._

So apparently Lisbon was still mad at him.  
>Even in her sleep.<p>

Jane stood next to the bed, blinking into the darkness, suddenly unsure of how to proceed and at the same time annoyed that he was once again aware of how cold and miserable he felt. The small white fireflies dancing in happy flurry motions in front of his eyes, weren't helping to improve his mood.

He blinked them away and the room was dark once more — and Jane back to waiting. But he suddenly couldn't remember what he was actually waiting for. Or why he'd thought coming here had been a good idea in the first place.

Okay, fair enough, it had _never_ been a good idea.

But he was cold, he was tired, he was in pain and distressed and none of those things would get any better by being stuck in a cold, hard single bed, staring at loneliness and a hideous Paisley pattern on the ceiling of the rather dull motel-room. They would get better by being with Lisbon though. Being with Lisbon made everything better. And not just since "being with Lisbon" actually meant "being with Lisbon". It always had.

Lisbon. His salvation from all things dark and painful. Who was only a step and a shuffle away. But who was also still so mad at him, she even remembered the feeling in deep sleep. And would thus consequently kick him out of bed again in a heartbeat if she happened to find him there without invitation.

In the end it was not the pounding headache or the cold or the fatigue that finally made him risk it anyway, but the sudden re-appearance of the imaginary luminescent insects. Maybe if he was careful, he could manage to just lay down close to her without waking her and creep back to his own room in an hour or two, before she stirred. It was worth a try.

It took him five minutes to get into the coffin of a bed next to her without falling off again. It took him another three and a half minutes to get his cold hands and one shoulder under the covers, without touching Lisbon in the process. The urge to do so was strong, but not really a surprise.

He managed not to give into it for a few minutes, but then, when he felt himself slowly drift off to sleep and thoughts and sounds and pain were already fading and nothing was left but a familiar feeling of warmth and peace, radiating from her body towards him, instinct and simple muscle memory took over and before he knew what he was doing, he'd wrapped his arms around her from behind and pressed his nose into the nape of her neck with a sigh.

It was like being on autopilot, Jane thought.  
><em>We have now reached our final parking position.<em>

For a second it seemed that Lisbon's body was also on autopilot, when she pressed her back a little more into his chest, when a hand brushed over his arm, and a foot slid between his.

Then she woke, switched back to manual controls and wriggled out of his embrace. She made an adorable deep growl, voice still thick with sleep.

"Go back to your own room, Jane."

Three layers of blankets had melted off her shoulder, revealing delightfully soft skin beneath. He pressed a kiss to it.

"Why?"

She pulled the blankets back up again to block his access.

"Because I'm still mad at you."

Jane made a distressed puppy noise.

"But I'm cold. And in pain. See?"

Lisbon flinched when his cold fingers brushed across her skin without warning. It should not have come as a surprise. When it came to finding the fastest way around any obstacle between him and her bare skin — silk, cotton, blankets, kevlar, life-vests, doors or desks to name a few — Jane always pulled out all the stops.

"Good", she said with another growl.

She pushed his hand off her shoulder and scooted away, taking the blankets with her in one grand angry sweep, before he could succeed in snatching one from her.

Jane made another puppy noise, that contained a slight huff of disappointment, surprise and annoyance. Lisbon grinned. Just because she'd flinched at what he had done with one hand, didn't mean, she hadn't noticed him trying to steal her blankets with the other. Recognising signs of misdirection. She was getting better at this.

"Liiissbooonnnn."

She scoffed, not falling for it. She was still furious at him for the stupid stunt he'd pulled earlier.

"Go away, Jane. I'm serious. You're not supposed to be here anyway. You know that. We're on duty. It's unprofessional."

"I beg to differ. We closed the case this afternoon. Which means we're done for today. Yesterday. Tonight. Whatever. And even assuming we're still on the clock, it only means you're on duty, since I am as good as on sick leave and therefore in dire need of TLC, so it's not unprofessional, it's inevitable."

Instead of challenging the logic behind his words — they've had this particular discussion a couple of time before with varying results —she asked:

"How did you get in here anyway? I locked the door twice. Put the chain on. And jammed it with a chair."

"Uh. Wow..… you're _that_ mad, huh?"

"Yes."

She heard him turn on his back with a sigh, then felt a tremor of distress move across the mattress underneath her, when he winced in pain.

Lisbon managed to stay curled up with her back towards him for exactly 44 seconds, before worry got the better of her and she started to turn to look at him. Halfway through twisting around, she stopped. And stared at the door. And the chain that was still in place. And the chair that was still lodged neatly beneath the door-knob. She blinked.

"Jane?"

"Hm?"

"Seriously. How did you get in here?"

He yawned and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"I'm telling you, the security in this place is appalling, if you can accomplish the act of breaking and entering while being concussed and suffering from hypothermia."

She glanced at him, then rolled her eyes.

"For your information: Bumping with your thick skull against the ass of a naked woman does not cause concussion."

"She was _not_ naked…"

"…three fig-leaves and a string do not qualify as clothing…"

"…yes, they do if they are in the right places and it was a pretty hard ass."

He gave an indignant huff, closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around himself — the grand drama contained in the gesture was clearly meant to invoke pity. It didn't work. She ignored him, rolled back to her other side and went on, calling over her shoulder.

"And while we're discussing that particular part of human anatomy: Falling on your own backside into a few inches of water, does not cause hypothermia either."

Now he started rubbing his arms and the huff turned into a whine.

"It does, when it's the middle of November and you're almost north of the wall. Or in north of Montana, which is practically the same thing."

She could feel him move again, turning away form her.

_Good. Let him sulk for a bit._

He deserved to be cold. And in pain. For that stupid stunt that got him punched in the face this afternoon. He could have broken his neck. The bad guy could have drawn a knife at him. Or a gun. He could have gotten himself killed. And just to reveal the guilty party in front of an audience, instead of proving the man's guilt the safe, quiet and boring way. With evidence. Which they'd already known was there, so the only reason for provoking the man to make a confession was because the great Patrick Jane was slightly bored all day and wanted to see if he could. Show-off. He deserved to be miserable, she thought.

At least for a few more minutes.

She frowned again towards the door, intrigued against her own will at how he had gotten into the room. Lisbon lifted her head, looking past him into the dim twilight of the approaching morning. Then she spotted it. A small puddle of water on the window sill. Her eyebrows rose almost up to her hairline in alarm.

"Jane? Please tell me you didn't…"

"Didn't do what?"

"Damn it, Jane, stop it!"

He sighed and turned on his back again, while throwing his hands in the air, voice full of irritation now.

"Stop what? All I've done for the past minute was to breathe, blink five times and rub my nose once. How on earth could any of that have offended you now?"

"Stop dodging the question. You know exactly what I was going to ask, so please just tell me you didn't climb down the fire-escape in your condition."

"Aha!" Jane turned and stabbed a finger at her. "So you do acknowledge that I've suffered grievous bodily harm!"

"I've acknowledged that already seven hours ago. I was concerned about possible brain-damage, if you recall."

Jane raised his eyebrows and tilted his head.

"Ah, see "concern" is actually something I don't recall being mentioned at the time, but I do remember that particular conversation containing the words "jerk", "stupid", "reckless", "childish" and two or three minor curses."

Lisbon turned her back at him again with a frustrated sigh.

"I might have a few new ones to add…" she growled from her side of the bed, but there was a quiver in it that was the result of fear and distress rather than rage. It made Jane close his eyes and finally stop dodging… anything.

Instead he reached out a careful hand and brushed it against her shoulder in a soft caress, before saying in a quiet, soft voice.

"Actually I have a few new ones to add as well. Three new ones to be precise."

He leaned up and pressed a light kiss to the nape of her neck. She didn't move. Neither away nor towards him. So he did it again and then, rubbing his cheek against her neck, said.

"I am sorry, Teresa."

She still didn't move, but after a while she mumbled.

"That's four word. And a comma. And they are not new."

He sighed, dropped his forehead against her shoulder.

"You are not going to make this easy for me, are you?"

"No."

"Fantastic", he growled against her skin.

"I thought you liked a challenge."

"Usually I do, but not while being injured, cold and overtired. In that state I think one challenge per hour is enough, so we probably should postpone the rest of this conversation until…"

He glanced at the red numbers on the bedside clock.

"5.12 am. That's in 20 minutes."

"Fine."

"Fine?"

"Yes, Jane. Fine."

"So, does that mean I'm allowed to stay then?", Jane asked with a grin and tried to slide a hand around her waist. Lisbon scooted away from him and almost fell off the bed in the process. Jane caught her just in time. She swore under her breath and tried to dislodge his fingers from her hip.

"Oh, come on, Lisbon, pleeaaaase, I'm really cold."

"Think about something warm then. Like my burning rage."

"And I'm in pain."

"And if you don't get your hand back out from where it is now, you'll get a chance to experience even more of it."

He pulled his hand away so quickly, it made her blink in surprise. When she felt the mattress move again, it made her turn around. He had rolled out of bed and was sitting on the edge of it, his back towards her, head in his hands.

The tiny white fireflies were swirling around his head again, this time adding a strange high-pitched buzzing sound to the mix. Jane closed his eyes and let his fingers brush experimentally over his temples. He winced. He could swear they were swollen, something pushing out of his skull, screaming, hot and painful.

Maybe he was finally growing horns.

Bit late, admittedly, but still a possibility, considering all the bad things he had done in his life.

But despite Lisbon's current fit of fury, he had no intention of adding the events of this afternoon to the list. He'd known it was a risk, he'd known it would probably get him punched in nose or worse, but he still thought it had been worth it.

And he would do it again.  
>In a heartbeat.<p>

This case had been dragging on forever and he'd been irritated and cross, because he'd wanted it over and done with, so he and Lisbon could finally have a few hours to themselves again. Which meant spending some quality time together in their own home — and preferably also their own bed.

Time.

It was a precious thing to him now, considering how much of it they had lost already. So he'd done what was necessary to prevent them losing any more of it. Clearly Lisbon's view on the matter was a different one and thinking about it made him rub the bridge of his nose in irritation and anger.

She still thought he pulled stunts like this out of some over-simplistic, shallow and narcissistic need to impress and outshine everyone else — including her. Or out of plain boredom.

Neither was the case.  
>Well, at least not more than 12 percent of it.<br>Ok, maybe 17 and a half. On a bad day.

He shifted a little to hide the shiver that his body insisted upon in order to release some of the pain and frustration that had accumulated over the last minute. Suddenly a burst of bright light sliced into his optical nerve like a laser, when a car went by on the street outside. He groaned. His head hurt like hell.

Suddenly, through the high-pitched buzzing sound in his ears, he heard the rustling of sheets. Then a voice. Small. Soft. Worried.

"Patrick?"

Good, he thought with smug satisfaction, hot righteous anger mingling with his pain now. He didn't turn to look at her.

"Hm?"

"Are you in pain?"

He scoffed, voice heavy with sarcasm.

"I'm afraid you need to be more specific: Are we talking head or heart?"

He thought about it for a second, then added with a sharp, icy, dismissive shrug.

"Although the answer is probably the same."

"I'm being serious."

"So am I."

Before he could add something else in an even more irritated, icy tone, there was a hand on his shoulder and gentle probing fingers on the back of his head.

He closed his eyes, let go of all anger and frustration and just concentrated on the feeling he'd missed all through the night and the previous day.

The feeling of Lisbon running her fingers through his hair.

Then he closed his eyes even tighter, when Lisbon found the spot where he'd crashed against the marble statue of Aphrodite after the bad guy had hit him with such force that he'd fallen into the small fountain with the greek goddess in its center.

Jane tried not to wince. Even though he'd thought he'd wanted her to worry and feel guilty before, now that his anger was gone, he realised it was actually the last thing he wanted.

Her fingers moved away and he was about to say something, when he felt her shift behind him and suddenly there was warmth all around him. Without saying a word, Lisbon had pulled his back against her chest and wrapped her arms around him from behind, thus covering them both in one of the nice thick winter-blankets.

He stayed still, feeling the cold distress seeping out of him and the hot anger out of her, until everything was warmth and peace and home. He turned then and carefully lowered them both back down onto the bed, without letting go for a single second. When they'd finally settled down together, arms wrapped around each other, eyes closed, foreheads touching, they just held on to each other in the twilight for a while. Finally Lisbon nudged his nose with hers, then wrinkled it in surprise and drew her head back to look at him.

"You are really cold." It was almost an accusation. He chuckled, but didn't open his eyes.

"Told you. Freezing."

"But that was hours ago, before a hot shower and a change of clothes, so… why are you still so cold?"

"Because I've been lying in a lonely, cold bed all on my own, forgotten and…"

She ran another hand through his hair, this time not searching for an injury, but for something else. She frowned.

"I repeat my earlier question: How did you get into this room?"

He frowned, a slightly worried look crossing his face.

"Hm. See, now this is a problem. You're going to be angry again. You just stopped being angry. It's nice when you're not angry. So I really don't want to answer that question. But I don't want to lie either, because that will make you angry as well."

"Then let me guess?"

He opened one eye and gave her a slightly suspicious and anxious look.

"Will guessing make you angry?"

She tilted her head to give it some thought, trying not to laugh, then said in a firm voice.

"Probably not."

"Then by all means: Guess."

"Since there's a small puddle of water on the window sill and your hair is a little damp, my guess is that you really did climb down the fire-escape."

He opened both eyes, leaned in and pressed a quick kiss on top of her nose.

"That would be an excellent guess."

She slapped his shoulder with the back of her hand and pushed him away from her. Hard. It almost made him fall out of bed again.

"Are you insane?"

Jane struggled to sit up, then raised his eyebrows and pointed a finger in her direction.

"Hey! You said guessing wasn't going to make you angry! You! Said!"

"And it doesn't. But you being reckless does! You could have slipped and…"

Jane waved a dismissive hand at her.

"Oh please, give me some credit. I was with the show once, you know?"

"Oi, carny-boy! Newsflash!"

She sat up as well, caught his waving hand in both her own and squeezed it. Hard.

"May I remind you, you were performing fake psychic readings while sitting on your ass, not flying trapeze acts without a safety net."

He looked at her quite offended and drew his hand back out of her grasp.

"That doesn't mean I don't know how to climb…"

When she gave an amused snort, he added quickly: "Airport fences don't count!"

She moved further away from him, almost to the edge of the bed. He didn't like the sudden wide gap between them, so he said:

"Seriously, Teresa, a five-year old could have climbed down those few steps. There was no danger. No danger at all."

Not in broad daylight on a warm summer's day anyway.  
>On a rainy night with the first few patches of ice on the metal steps, though…<br>Well, but he'd done okay in the end hadn't he?

And anyway, it was not his fault, that she left him with only one alternative for getting into her room silently and unnoticed. Which was necessary due to of a silent agreement between him and Abbott.

Well, not an agreement, more of a… natural win-win-situation, really.  
>Ok, basically it was mutual blackmail.<p>

Not that they've ever talked about it. All it had taken was two glances, one raised eyebrow and two nods and they knew where they stood. As long as it didn't interfere with their work and they kept it low-key, Abbott wouldn't separate Jane from Lisbon by putting them in different units. And as long as Abbott didn't interfere with… well, anything relating to Jane and Lisbon, really, Jane wouldn't separate Abbott from his mental health by basically messing with everything and anything. So as long as they were discreet and no one noticed any kind of romantic inter… uh, action while they were on duty, they were fine.

He tensed.

"Uh…"

Lisbon looked at him in alarm.

"What?"

"I forgot."

"Forgot what?"

"To check for… cameras."

Lisbon sighed. "Really? Again?"

"May I remind you, that last time it wasn't_ me_ being caught on camera in a compromising situation."

"It was your fault though, for luring me _into_ that compromising situation in the first place!"

"Hey, all I did, was ask you…"

She suddenly lunged at him and put a hand over his mouth as quick as she could.

"Nah! Shush! Don't you dare to repeat that!"

"What?" he mumbled against her palm. When she took her hand away, he grinned at her, a bright sparkle of amusement suddenly shining in his eyes.

"I seem to recall you rather liked what I had to say … a lot actually."

She scooted back to the edge of the bed with an indignant bristle. He chuckled.

"Ah. I see. Dilemma. You actually want me to say it again, but you also want to pretend to be mad at me for a while longer."

She crossed her hands in front of her chest, swung her legs off the bed and turned her back on him.

"Present tense, Patrick: I _am_ mad at you."

He shifted, then winced again, the sudden pain in his neck bringing with it a smaller, but not less intense spark of irritation. How had they gotten back to different sides of the bed again so fast? Maybe it just wasn't meant to be tonight. He sighed and decided to give up on trying to get some sleep and/or comfort until they got home. He shook his head and got up quickly, striding towards the door.

"You know what? No dilemma, actually, since I won't make any promises to you that I can't keep. And I'm in no fit state to do _that_. So I'll see you at breakfast. Try to get some more sleep."

"What? No! Come back here!"

"I told you, I don't think I'm up for…"

"Patrick…"

Her voice was suddenly very soft and quiet. He stopped.

"What?"

"Would you please come back here?"

Stunned by her scared, trembling tone and even more stunned by the sight of her standing next to the bed, face pale, hands gripping the hem of her shirt so hard, her knuckles were white with strain, he moved back towards her without thinking twice.

She slid her hands around his neck and pulled him into a tight embrace, standing on her toes, so she could push her face into the hollow of his throat. When he brushed his hands across her back in a soothing motion, he felt her flanks quiver, like a frightened deer, ready to bolt. She wasn't angry anymore. She was upset. Very upset. He rubbed a hand over her back and put the other one on the back of her head to hold her against him, then pressed a kiss into her hair.

"I am really really really sorry."

She huffed again, but there was slight amusement back in her voice. And the hint of a sniffle.

"Adverbs don't count."

He pressed another kiss into her hair and lifted his head again only far enough to ask: "Does that count?", before doing it again.

"Maybe."

"Ok, how about this?"

He put a hand on her chin, so he could lift up her face, then leaned down and kissed her. A slow, long, tender kiss, at the end of which they somehow were back to leaning their foreheads against each other. Lisbon's hands rested flat on his chest now and she tapped one against his heart.

"Still. That was a really stupid thing to do."

"Yeah, I think we've established that already. It worked, though. And sped things up. I did it to save time. Time for us."

Guilt and shame rose in hectic red patches up her neck. That's why he'd done it. She'd been wrong. So wrong. But even if his intensions had been good, one problem still remained. She shook her head.

"You could have been seriously injured."

He put his hands on her shoulders.

"So could you."

"I'm a cop."

"So that means you're invincible or what?"

"No. Just. Better prepared for things like that. _Trained_ for things like that."

"Actually I was prepared for it. And trained for it. That's the whole point of provoking someone to punch you."

She fell silent, then said in a whisper so quiet he almost didn't catch it.

"But I wasn't prepared for it. Because you didn't prepare me for it. And because you didn't, I was too far away."

He frowned.

"Too far away for what?"

"Too far away to stop it. Stop him. From hurting you. I was terrified."

His stomach lurched and his throat tightened as the consequence of her words hit home.

Consequence.

That was a word almost as important as "time" now. What he did, what happened to him had consequences for someone else again. It was almost as terrifying a feeling as love. He swallowed, pressed a long, hard kiss into her hair again, while blinking away tears. He was glad she wasn't looking at him, was glad that her hands tightened around his waist, but was not glad, when he felt something wet against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and started to rock them gently.

"I'm sorry, Teresa, okay? I'm sorry for not talking to you first. I'm… sometimes I just… I wasn't doing it on purpose. And I'm sorry for scaring you, I never meant to."

He sighed.

"Look, I'm fine, really. You know me. I don't like physical pain, I'm the worst patient ever, so all the whining and the drama… you know I was just joking, don't you?"

"No, you weren't."

"It's not that bad."

"But it's not fine, either."

"Just a little headache."

"You could have broken your neck."

"Now that would have been seriously embarrassing. Breaking your neck on a marble ass-cheek."

A snort came from somewhere close to his heart.

"It's not funny."

"No. I'm sorry. It's not."

Silence. Then she suddenly said.

"Ok, maybe a little funny."

He rubbed the back of his head.

"Hm. At least it was a pretty ass. You know, greek goddess of love and beauty and all that."

Another sniffle, but this time already shifting into a giggle.

"I am sorry, Teresa, For not telling you. For worrying you. And you're right, maybe I was taking an unnecessary risk, but I didn't do it for my own pleasure or a chicken sandwich and a cup of tea."

She leaned up and pressed a soft kiss on his chin.

"I know. And I'm sorry for locking you out."

He grinned.

"A chair though? Really? You'd think a _chair_ would keep me out?"

"Well, it did, didn't it?"

"Ah. Well. Not as such. I just couldn't figure out a way to get past it without knocking it over and scaring you into accidentally shooting me."

She mumbled something into his chest again.

"What?"

"I said, I had to use the chair, the desk was too heavy to move…"

He laughed. "You were _really_ angry, weren't you?"

"I was."

"Are you still? Angry?"

"No. You?"

He shook his head.

"I was never angry."

Lisbon rubbed her nose again his chest.

"Yes, you were. And I'm sorry if I've implied you took that risk out of vanity and being a selfish, narcissistic pain in the ass. I know you didn't. And that you are not."

He fell silent, then he suddenly said in a very high voice.

"Sooooo …. does that mean we can get back into your bed now?"

She laughed. "Yes, it does."

He started to lower her down onto the mattress.

"And am I allowed to stay in it?"

She grabbed his neck and pulled him down with her. He flipped them, until she was on top of him. Then he growled. A very happy kind of growl. Lisbon laughed.

"You are very welcome to stay in it for…"

She glanced past his face at the clock, then groaned.

"One hour and twenty minutes."

Jane brushed his thumbs over her cheeks and mouth in a soft caress, before whispering against her lips.

"Then lets make the most of it, shall we?"

And then the room was silent again. Except for two people breathing and whispering words of love into what was by now the end of the night and the beginning of a new day.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Thank you so much for reading this and I hope you liked it. And I promise to get back to the endless Blue-Bird-tag now.


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